


Crumbs and Scorch Marks

by mithril_owl



Category: Megamind (2010)
Genre: Baking, Christmas, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, kind of?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:28:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28417626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithril_owl/pseuds/mithril_owl
Summary: They’ve never been big on tradition, but one thing has stayed with them over the years.(Alternately, “Five times Minion made Christmas cookies.”)
Relationships: (eventually), Megamind & Minion, Megamind & The Warden, Megamind/Roxanne Ritchi, Minion & The Warden (Megamind)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 49





	1. Age 3

**Author's Note:**

> Eh, it's still close enough to Christmas...? Oh well! Fluff can be enjoyed year round.

“You want to do _what_?” James Smith, warden of Metro City Prison for the Criminally Gifted, looked down into the wide green eyes of his tiny ward.

The blue child’s chubby cheeks puffed out and he trotted over to the bars, colouring book clutched tight in his little hand. It was an early Christmas gift from one of the guards and Blue had taken to it immediately.

He held the book up to the bars (all coloured perfectly within the lines, though the Warden had to bite back a laugh at the blue skinned Santa) and pointed a long finger at the scene showing a family in the kitchen.

“Can we bake cookies?” the little blue alien repeated.

“Why would you want to bake cookies?”

“I like cookies.” He shrugged, as though the answer was obvious.

“When on earth did you get the chance to have a--?” James’ brow furrowed in deep confusion, until a guilty cough from a few cells down drew a withering glare. “The boy’s on a strict diet, Bill!! No processed shi— _food_ until we know he can metabolize it safely!”

A meek ‘sorry’ drifted down the hall, buried beneath a wave of quiet laughter in the surrounding cell blocks.

“Sugar won’t make me sick, Warden.” Little Blue shook his head. “I had sweets before and none of them upset my stomach. Although I did have a headache when I ate the _pic-see_ stick.”

James blinked for a moment, until the spark of comprehension grew into the flustered rage of insubordination.

“For the love of Christ, if I catch anyone else giving pixie sticks to a toddler they’ll be spending the next week in the hole!!” he bellowed.

The cell block abruptly faded into silence.

“So can Minion and I make cookies?” Blue bounced on the balls of his feet, hugging the colouring book to his chest.

Minion rolled up to the bars and focused his round eyes on the Warden with a gap-toothed smile. One pair of puppy eyes he could resist (just barely), but to have _two_ sets of hopeful eyes boring into his soul... James felt his resolve crumble immediately.

“Tell you what,” he leaned against the bars with his arms crossed. “If you’re good for your Uncles today, I’ll take you and Minion to the kitchen tonight after final lockup.”

The boys gave a small cheer.

“But! You have to promise me you’ll be on your best behaviour. That means no escape attempts, no blowtorches, and eating whatever vegetable they’re serving at mess hall.”

“Yes, Warden.” they chorused.

* * *

Warden Smith had never made cookies in his life, but he didn’t have the heart to disappoint the young aliens when they asked for so little.

Or rather, when they rarely asked for something that he _could_ provide. If he had to explain “no, the prison does not have room for a hydrogen flux arc welder” one more time he was going to start pulling out his moustache.

But teaching a little kid to bake cookies? _That_ he could do.

He figured Blue would take well to cooking since it was as strict and rule-based as any of the mathematical and science-y things he liked. And, given his recently discovered sweet tooth (James was still out for blood-- pixie sticks? _Really_?!), the promised reward of food was an additional win.

Every ingredient required a precise measurement, and though he knew there was some science involved, he’d be damned if he knew more beyond “baking soda makes it rise…”

…or was it baking powder?

Still! It should be idiot proof.

(And secretly he was looking forward to spending some time with Blue doing something ‘normal.’ The boy needs more of that, James thought with a fleeting pang of guilt.)

He spoke with some of Blue's adoptive 'Uncles' throughout the day, pleased with the glowing reports. There were many plaintive glances cast towards the blow torch during shop time, but aside from some relentless fidgeting in his chair he was well-behaved. The reports from the yard were equally as glowing: no snowball fights with the Highwaymen, and no attempts to scale the wall or hide in a tree when yard-in was called.

Dinner with Blue was often an ordeal. With a dramatic panache to rival any seasoned thespian, he would loudly bemoan the great injustice of having to eat whatever vegetable the kitchen had overcooked that day. (“Thy drugs are quick. Thus with brussels sprouts I die!”) Yet today the dreaded green mush on his plate was consumed with minimal retching and he nearly skipped back to his cell for evening lock up.

* * *

At 18:00 sharp the Warden arrived with jingling keys and a smile on his face. Blue obediently grabbed his outstretched hand and cradled Minion in his other arm as they made their way to the kitchen's service entrance.

James could barely keep up with the steady stream of questions and was already beginning to feel a small tug of exhaustion. “What's in a kitchen? What's a 'fridge?' Will Santa be there? Is there a family trapped in the kitchen like in my colouring book?”

More than anything he wished his assistant hadn't switched to decaf for the final coffee of the day. Jordan was a master at time management and the best assistant James had seen in his career, but he bristled slightly at being mothered by a man ten years his junior.

* * *

The Warden tossed his suit jacket over a stool and rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt up to the elbows. He watched Blue mimic the action on his own prison jumpsuit and felt an uncharacteristic surge of tremendous fondness for the boy.

The feeling did not last long once the lesson began.

James realized Minion was clearly the more interested party, although his lack of hands made it difficult to help. They eventually turned it into a game for Minion to roll towards the next ingredient while Blue measured everything.

It quickly turned into a spectacular mess. Cups of flour puffed into the air as they were dumped haphazardly into the mixing bowl- and immediately taken out when the Warden vainly attempted to explain no, you need to use the lines on the side; you can't just throw ingredients into the bowl and hope for cookies, what part of a recipe are you not understanding exactly??

Minion slipped on the spilled ingredients and knocked several bags over to further contribute to the chaos. James was going to find sugar in his shoes for weeks.

The Warden handled creaming the butter and sugar together and held his tongue when Blue sniffed the vanilla extract and took a hearty swig.

After the inevitable spit-take, he silently thanked the baking gods there was no cocoa powder in the recipe. Chocolate was a _nightmare_ to clean, and right now he wasn't entirely sure if detergent would remove the vanilla stains that had landed on Blue's uniform (and part of James' dress shirt).

When eating the raw ingredients was met with immense disappointment, Blue became easily distracted by the equipment in the prison kitchen and the Warden found his attention was quite divided during the baking lesson. The threat of a early, cookiless bedtime eventually glued his butt to the stool.

But even following a recipe (and not being “helped” by small children), one is bound to make the occasional mistake. Really, for one unfamiliar with kitchen lingo, ‘tsp’ and ‘tbs’ sound as though they could theoretically be interchangeable measurements!

“I thought you knew how to make cookies?” Blue snarked with great disapproval as James swore under his breath trying to fish eggshells out of the mixing bowl.

“To be honest, my wife— _ah, dammit!_ —my wife is the one who usually bakes the cookies,” huffed the Warden as the minuscule piece of shell slid back into the batter. “But recipes are supposed to be straight forward enough for anyone to follow. I’ve watched her bake for ten years, although I'm usually there just to keep her company and steal some of the chocolate chips. No, Blue! _That was not an invitation to eat the chocolate_!!”

“But you just said—!” the little alien cried indignantly as his fingers hovered over the open bag of chocolate that had been torturing him for the last half hour.

“Yes, but I’m a grown-up.” James' eyes sparkled with mischief as he stole a single chip that had spilled out of the bag. Blue sank lower into his chair with a tremendous pout.

They worked in silence for a moment, until Minion rolled through the mess on the counter to nudge the Warden’s elbow.

“Yes, Minion?” his moustache twitched as he rubbed a thumb across the glass dome to clear off the flour and droplets of spewed vanilla extract.

“What’s the difference?”

“Between what?” he raised an eyebrow.

“All the powders! They look the same.” Minion flapped his fins.

“Flour makes up most of the cookie. Baking soda makes it rise in the oven. Sugar- although I guess that's not really a powder- makes it taste sweet.”

He plopped the cookie dough onto the baking sheets during his explanation and Minion followed his every movement with curious eyes. When everything was ready to bake, The Warden began moving the trays into the large industrial sized oven (taking note of one tray with several mysterious child-sized bites in the dough).

“And the eggs? Won't they taste like breakfast?”

“I used to wonder about that, too.” James agreed as he set a timer on his wristwatch. “But according to my wife, the eggs mix with the other ingredients and keep everything together. Without them, the cookies wouldn't keep their shape on the pan and the cookies would be dry and awful.”

James did his best to answer the rest of Minion's questions, though there were several he simply couldn't answer and had to promise to let Minion know tomorrow, once Mrs. Smith was consulted. He probably should have called her on his lunch break for some advice, but he'd honestly thought it was going to be easier than--

“Is something burning?” Minion asked. James was momentarily thrown by the abrupt change in questions, until he sniffed the air and recoiled at the thick smell of the dark smoke that rolled out of the oven.

The Warden crossed the room in two steps, thrusting a hand into a crusty oven mitt to rescue the smouldering remains of the cookies. The tray with the partially consumed dough balls was still on fire and James made a frantic dash for the extinguisher.

“I don’t understand,” coughed the Warden. “we followed the recipe! The dough was mixed, the oven was set to three-fifty—”

“Five hundred, actually.” Chimed the small blue terror.

“Five hundred-- _Five-hundred degrees Fahrenheit?!_ ”

“I wanted them to cook faster.”

James desperately combed through his memories of the last five minutes to figure out when Blue could have acted unsupervised, and realized that addressing Minion’s questions had been a large enough window of opportunity for mischief. Not that he placed any blame on the little fish in the slightest. No, Minion almost looked angrier than the Warden that their baking lesson had quite literally ended in flames.

James tossed the rest of the charred pastries into the sink to avoid further combustion, and dragged the boys back to their cell in a furious huff.

It took several hours to clean the baking sheets- no sense in leaving it for the poor morning crew when the entire mess was his fault in the first place.

* * *

When James crawled home at quarter to ten smelling of burned flour, his wife was less than supportive as he recounted the day's misadventures. She was able to hold back most of her laughter, but it grew increasingly difficult as her dear husband's face got redder and redder.

“Oh sweetheart, here- let me load that into the wash, and I’ll…”

A small cloud of flour puffed into the air when his dress shirt was tossed into her open arms, and the fight to control her giggles was finally lost.

As James stood in his undershirt (which somehow was _also_ coated in flour) and watched his traitorous wife collapse against the wall with tears of mirth in her eyes, he vaguely wondered if it was acceptable to crack open the scotch on a Tuesday night.

* * *

“I never knew flour was flammable! Did you see how bright the flames were?! That was so cool!!”

“I’m glad you had fun, Sir.” Minion burbled sullenly, rolling idly in the thin snow covering the yard.

“It was great! I want to make cookies again!”

Officer Scott Adams coughed into his pale fist to disguise the laugh that had escaped while eavesdropping on his charges. Adams had recently transferred from a juvenile facility an hour away from Metro City, and he had a tremendous soft spot for the two young aliens. As yard-in was called for pre-lunch count, a plan was beginning to take shape in his mind.

By the end of his break at 13:00, he had finally gathered the nerve to knock on the Warden's door and stutter through his idea. To his immense relief, Warden Smith smiled.

Later in the day when the boys had returned to their cell during recreation time (the closest the Warden could get to an actual “grounding” in a prison), Officer Adams made a slight detour on his rounds.

“I heard you boys made cookies last night?” he crouched down outside of the cell.

“We made fire. They were supposed to be cookies, though.” Blue shrugged from the floor, colouring another blue Santa lethargically.

“That's too bad! All that hard work for nothing. I ruined the first batch of cookies I made when I was a kid, too.”

“Did yours also burst into flames?” wide green eyes locked with pale grey.

“No! I mixed up the salt and sugar.” he chuckled as both aliens voiced their disgust. “Mistakes happen; it's all part of learning. Hey, how would you boys feel about having another go at it?”

To his immense surprise, the little fish in the ball spoke up. “Really?? But Warden was so mad- I thought we’d _never_ be allowed back!”

“Well, as long as you’re both very, _very_ good for the next week and promise to not touch anything in the kitchen, he said you could watch me bake.” He paused for a moment, the hint of a laugh dancing at the edge of his words. “Warden Smith also made _me_ promise not to tell any of the other guards about what happened, or else I’d be moved to the custodial crew to clean toilets for a month.”

* * *

One very long week later, Officer Adams returned to Blue's cell and led the small duo back to the kitchen. And so the process began again- with much less mess.

“Uncle Scott, you're really good at this.” Minion beamed.

“I studied Baking and Pastry Arts at Metro City Community College.” Adams responded, smiling warmly at the moniker. As far as he knew, he was the first guard to ever be gifted the title of Uncle. “I always wanted to open my own bakery.”

“What else did you learn at community _coll-age_?” Blue asked around a spoonful of cookie dough. Scott knew how to prepare it safely enough; he figured there was no harm in letting the kid have a few bites (so long as Warden Smith never found out).

As he moved around the kitchen with as much ease as breathing, Officer Adams regaled the boys with his adventures at culinary school and a few stories from his brief stint at a local cafe, before it closed and he was forced into an abrupt change of career.

Once the cookies were removed from the oven Scott could barely keep the boys away long enough to let them cool. They hadn't turned into charcoal! And in the end, Blue agreed that even though fire was exciting, actually eating the cookies was even better.


	2. Age 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the support so far! Sorry for the wait- I got a little carried away writing ahead and I finished the final chapter before finishing this one... oops lol.

For the next four years, Warden Smith (and Officer Adams, if he was scheduled) tried to bring the boys into the kitchen every December, except for last year in the aftermath of a tremendous fight in the cafeteria. The new meal schedule drastically impacted kitchen access time, and several follow-up attacks led to a complete shut-down of all other extracurriculars for the month.

They never did find out who threw the first mince pie at the Aryans.

Minion was nearly vibrating with excitement to be back in the kitchen (especially with his new body- he could hold a spoon now!), but the Warden was surprised by Blue’s shared enthusiasm.

“We’re having a Christmas party at shool,” Blue eagerly explained through a mouthful of chocolate chips.

(The chocolate was a diversion; the Warden was actually teaching Minion how to make sugar cookies, and he did not want to fight with Blue about eating raw cookie dough again.)

This year James was _well_ prepared, having diligently watched his wife go through the recipe herself in their own kitchen the week before. The master-class ensured there was little room for error, be it accidental or caused by a blue menace with a wandering attention span.

And it meant more treats at home! God, he loved that woman.

“No one in the class has any nut allergies, do they? I think we’ll be safe, but there may be a few traces of peanut butter from breakfast this morning.” James turned to inspect the scuffed steel counters.

“If they do, I don’t care.” Blue shrugged. The Warden, still facing the counters, missed the guarded look on his face.

“Blue,” began the Warden with the threat of a lecture in his tone. He was content to leave it at that, but when he turned and caught the over-exaggerated eye roll the gloves were off.

Minion tried to read ahead in the recipe while the pair argued. He gently picked up the small index card prepared by the Warden’s wife in clear, precise handwriting; lovingly decorated with holographic stickers of snowmen and Christmas trees. There were still a lot of words he didn’t recognize, but the little fish did his best to sound them out like Sir had taught him.

Things appeared to be running quite smoothly this year, even though Minion was disappointed Officer Adams wasn't working today. He was so excited to finally cook on his own and make Uncle Scott proud! The Warden still had to cream the butter and sugar together due to a miscalculation in the force behind the torsion springs, and someone had to hold the flour bag open for Minion to maneuver his measuring cup... still, the majority of the work was done by the aspiring chef.

Blue was up and down throughout the baking lesson to help swap Minion's hands. Flour gummed up the shock mounts in the claw attachment, so Blue had to improvise.

It was the only time James broke the “no blowtorch in the kitchen” rule.

* * *

When the dough was finally combined, Blue was dismayed to hear it would be another hour before they could start baking.

“For the last time, I don’t know why you have to wait- they’re supposed to keep their shape better when you cut them or something, and it’s what the recipe _said_ to do-- _please put your coat on_!”

As the two aliens were literally dragged outside for yard time, James stayed behind to clean off Minion’s hand attachments and the other utensils. The lunch crew was slowly trickling in for their prep work and gave him a wide breadth as he worked in cheery silence. He ignored their confused looks—it wasn’t fair to leave the mess for them, who cares if he’s wearing a suit? Besides, washing dishes was better than the slog of paperwork that was waiting on his desk. Sticking his tongue to a cold lamp post was more enjoyable than the paperwork on his desk. He’d probably have to stay late to make up for some of the lost time, but this was the one highlight of his day and he was going to take full advantage of it.

Cleaning sadly did not take very long, so he forced himself to at least make an appearance in his office to deal with the steadily growing “for James to sign” folder in his mailbox.

The buzzer signifying yard-in had barely finished ringing over the courtyard when James sprinted out the door, ignoring his assistant’s weak reminder of his 13:00 meeting with the Correctional Programming team. God, James was counting down the hours to his wonderful three days of vacation.

Upon meeting them at the doors the two aliens raced ahead of him to return to the kitchen and eagerly descended upon the tray with cookie cutters. While they baked, the trio set to work preparing the icing- James felt comfortable tidying up a bit without the imminent threat of another fire in the oven.

The boys cheered as the Warden’s timer chimed on his watch, but there was much sulking when he had to break the news that they had to wait _again_.

“The icing’s going to melt if they’re too hot. We still have to dye the other two bowls, and then we’ll finish up in my office to give the food service crew room to work.”

James helped them carry everything down to the administrative wing and cleared a corner of his desk off for them (though they eventually ended up spread out on the floor). It was comfortable- while he caught up on the mountain of approvals, the pair chattered away and were mostly on their best behaviour.

“I saw the look you gave that food colouring, Blue- it’s not edible. I’m not going to have a repeat of the vanilla incident because that stain _won’t_ come out.”

It was a surprisingly productive morning- no one dared to bother James with Blue in his office. Jordan was running excellent interference and holding any calls. If it weren’t such a risk to his blood pressure, he’d have the boys in his office every day. Not being interrupted every fifteen minutes was quite the novelty.

There’s frosting splattered on the carpet and on the side of his desk, but it’s a small price to pay.

 _Finally_ it was time to ice them (he’d placed the rack on top of a filing cabinet by the window to cool them off faster) and James took a break to join them cross-legged on the floor and decorate a few cookies of his own. His wife had made a back-up batch of royal icing in case anything happened to their first attempt. Strangely, it was already partially consumed by the time the cookies had cooled to decorate. Lines of frosting were smeared across the top of Minion’s dome and James wearily ignored the evidence.

Blue insisted on having one fresh cookie (for quality control), and the look on his face had been sorely worth every stressful moment in the kitchen. He dashed across the tiny office to yank open the opening to Minion’s dome and thrust a piece of the cookie into his face.

“Minion, these are _fantastic_!” he gushed.

Minion was having difficulty responding due to the sheer volume of cookie in his tiny mouth, but he was eventually able to return the smile on his friend's face.

“They’re so sweet and soft and rich- I can't wait to see their reactions, they're going to love them! Oh, I wish you could be there to hear them,” he trailed off sadly.

Minion was unfortunately not allowed to go to school with Megamind anymore, though the Warden didn’t entirely understand why. The note Miss Samson sent home was confusing: one paragraph listed the trouble Blue had caused in the classroom (again), then suddenly went on to detail the school’s no-pets policy, which was news to James. Blue was coming up on four months at Lil' Gifted and Minion had never been an issue until now.

He was going to have to talk to that woman someday. God, if he only had the time.

“That's ok, Sir! I can't wait to hear you tell me all about it.” Minion flipped in his tank, the movement displacing the floating crumbs.

James packed the cookies away in a beaten-up piece of tupperware on loan from the kitchen and listened to Blue talk about his class Christmas party all the way back to his cell.

“Art is right after lunch, and we’re going to make clay orn-ements to hang on a tree. Can I hang mine in the yard? Or do you think the Bloods would mistake it for another declaration of war like the cafeteria fight last year? I didn’t like eating in my cell for so long, and I don’t want to lose my yard time... even if it is cold. Stupid gang fights. I _told_ Uncle Deion to stop cheating at Spades, but no one listened to me!”

“What?” James nearly dropped the container.

Blue continued, oblivious to the Warden’s gobsmacked expression. He put on a gruff voice, his little chest puffed out. “‘Just because the Aryans transferred from Nevada doesn’t mean they’re all a buncha card sharks, baby Blue!’” he deflated, gesturing wildly and continuing on in his normal voice. “No, I _know_ they are, because I’m counting cards along with them while I’m colouring! And now we aren’t allowed to have pies anymore and it _sucks_. Next year can you teach Minion how to make a pie?”

Glossing over the casual reveal of a year-long mystery that had been an administrative nightmare (and Blue’s apparent involvement, **what** ) James was slightly worried about his first Christmas with other children. The boy’s Christmases were far from traditional and he knew kids could be cruel when someone didn’t belong. Braces had made James’ life a living hell; he can’t imagine what it’s like to be so obviously alien from the rest of your classmate. But Blue had never complained and James assumed that the Scott boy made things somewhat easier.

(Lady Scott was deep in her cups at last year’s police charity dinner and had cornered James on his way to the washroom to gush about her son from the skies. It was part of the reason he’d selected Lil’ Gifted- he felt better knowing Blue would have a friend in the class.)

Still, there were little things that occasionally gnawed at the back of his mind.

Last week the blue Santa that had once been a staple holiday decoration in the boy’s cell had been ripped up and replaced with an angrily coloured peach Santa, holes dragged across the paper from the force of the crayon. 

And the week before Blue came home with the faded remains of a bruise around his temple- although the boy had also taken a spill in the yard trying to prevent Minion from rolling down the snow bank. Blue healed so fast, it was impossible to ever tell if the injury was accidentally inflicted or the tail end of a black eye.

God, if only he’d _talk_ to him. He’s led interrogations that weren’t half as agonizing.

“How was school?” he would ask every day, vainly hoping for anything other than ‘fine.’

“Fine,” came the inevitable reply.

If he was feeling masochistic, the Warden would try to dig a little further. “What did you learn?”

Sometimes he would get an actual answer, sometimes he would receive a shrug. It was always a coin toss. When he did respond, sometimes the answer was completely out of left field: “Today I learned the combustion threshold for pop-ed corn,” or “I found out that Minion can survive dehydration.”

But most days would centre around the trouble he had caused in the classroom. “Miss Samson tried to teach us long division but I got in trouble for not doing the equation right.”

“Well, you do need to follow instructions, Blue.” sighed the Warden.

“I _was_! She told us to solve the equations, but she yelled at me for not showing my work. It’s not my fault I can look at 45 divided by 13 and just _know_ the answer is 3.462!” Blue crossed his arms with a huff.

“I know, but you should do what the teacher says. She wants to make sure you really understand the question, and writing the extra steps is just good practice.”

“Miss Samson got really mad and thought that I was cheating. So then I was dragged up to the board to solve a bunch of problems she made up on the spot. I got all of them right without ever touching the chalkboard -- all the way up to 23,459 divided by 546 – but then I told her she did her math wrong and I was sent back to the corner. And that’s why Minion can’t come to shool anymore.”

...which, now that James replayed the conversation in his head, was an _incredibly_ telling answer. What the hell had he been doing at the time to miss that information?!

James flopped into his chair with a sigh, gazing absentmindedly over the mountain of papers on his desk. Right. He was in here, trying to get the November expense statements to balance. He still couldn't get the numbers to match, and the audit committee had been on his ass for three weeks demanding the report. Speaking of...

Red icing covered the infernal statement, and he was about to throw it in the garbage and head back to block C to scold the boy when he stood up from his desk and paused. No, those were too precise to be random smears. Taking several steps farther away from the desk, he realized the streaks of frosting were corrections. His bark of laughter ruffled his mustache.

January, he vowed to himself. He would make every effort to clear his calendar to attend the first Parent-Teacher meeting in the new year.

* * *

The next morning Blue was handing out cookies to some of the guards and the neighbouring cells, deeming there was enough to go around for both his classmates and his Uncles. He continued to monologue all through his morning ablutions to anyone who was willing to listen- and prattled on anyway if they weren't interested.

Blue was bouncing on his toes waiting for the bus to arrive and barely waited for the hydraulic hiss of the brakes before bounding to the half-opened door . A corner of the cracked tupperware lid poked out from his threadbare backpack and bounced with each step. The Warden waved him off from the gate, holding a worried Minion tight in his hands.

“We've got a thrilling day ahead of us, Minion.” James joked as he readjusted his grip on the glass sphere. “It's budget review time.”

* * *

After an agonizing morning reviewing the Grounds and Maintenance budget for the next quarter, James was absolutely desperate for a break.

He'd much rather work on the holiday shift schedule, but the first meeting of the Food Services Procurement Committee was at 09:00 on the dot tomorrow and there were six RFPs James still had to review. Warden Smith was not usually one to procrastinate, but he was exhausted and worried about Blue... and god, procurement was unforgivably boring.

During the school week the Warden had an alarm set for 14:30 every day to free him from the shackles of his desk. On any other day, the small reminder was desperately needed-- James would be buried in his work and nearly miss meeting Blue at the gates after school. It wasn't anything required of him, but he felt the routine would be good for the boy.

(Selfishly, he looked forward to meeting him at the gates each day.)

The Warden was so desperate to escape from his desk he barely needed the reminder today. As the small Casio watch on his wrist finally gave a soft peep, James bolted up from his desk with a crackling stretch to retrieve his office companion for the day.

Minion had patiently listened to James talk through his budget woes, shyly asking the occasional question, and had settled down for a light doze shortly after lunch. The poor guy was probably enjoying a rare moment of quiet seldom granted to the protector of a veritable hurricane. The peaceful lull had at least allowed James to get through the bulk of one proposal.

He picked up the sleepy fish resting in his ball, the gentle jostling enough to rouse him from his slumber.

“Time to head out,” James murmured with a gruff affection. Minion gave a happy somersault in his habitat.

They arrived just in time to meet their shared ward at the gates, standing quietly with his arms raised as the guards moved around him to perform the standard pat down.

Oh no, James knew _that_ look.

The deeply furrowed brows that scrunched up his entire face; cheeks and nose flushed purple from the effort of holding back the angry tears in his bright eyes. Shoulders drawn up to his ears as shallow breaths left his narrow chest and faded into the cold December air.

His face closed off with a short sniff as soon as he heard the Warden approach and it was such a striking shift James was physically taken aback. Blue stared ahead ignoring the small group around him, features schooled into a mask of indifference that came far too easily for someone so young.

Tomorrow. He was going to call that damn teacher tomorrow.

As the guards completed the pat down, they pretended to 'discover' something on his person and the Warden relished the small flicker of a smile that danced across the boy’s face as they pulled a candy cane from behind his back.

He tore into the plastic with a softly murmured 'thanks,' and trudged back to the prison with a small slouch. James gratefully nodded to the guards and quickly fell into step at his side.

The trio walked in silence until they returned to the familiar cell with paper plastered to the walls and hanging from the ceiling. Moving on autopilot and not really registering his own actions, Blue removed Minion from the Warden's hands and returned him to the top of his new robot body. The sensors twitched to life and trembling blue fingers fumbled with the zipper on his oversized winter jacket.

“Did they like the cookies, Sir?” Minion finally dared to break the uncomfortable silence.

Blue hurled his backpack to the floor with all the violence he could muster in his tiny frame. The resounding 'thump' echoed with the telltale rattle of baked goods, and the Warden felt his heart plummet.

“No, they did _not_ like the cookies, Minion.” he spat as the angry flush returned to his cheeks with a vengeance. “They- no one wanted-- they said-- he--”

James dared to kneel down low enough to place a large hand on the small, bony shoulder jutting out of the dingy prison uniform, and it was nearly enough to crumple the boy's resolve. His expressive face cycled through many different emotions, but he could barely conceal the hurt deep in those innocent green eyes. He stumbled over his words in palpable frustration, eventually deflating as though someone had stuck a pin in him.

“No one wanted to eat them.” he continued in a small voice. “Wayne said they'd turn you blue. I tried to explain that Minion made them and they were perfectly safe, but... Miss Sampson accused me of lying again. I spent the afternoon in the corner while the rest of the class ate the cookies they brought in. The Scott's personal chef brought ee-clairs.” he shrugged.

“Sir...” Minion took a few halting steps forward as James murmured his name, his voice warm with sympathy. He squeezed the boy’s shoulder and his pale blue eyes crinkled with concerned affection.

The dual attempt at comfort seemed to have the completely opposite effect, and Blue’s walls were immediately up again. He shrugged off the warm hand with a frustrated growl and James tried to suppress the ache it caused in his chest. Blue was a smart kid—smarter than James!—but he was still a kid. For all the power in that mighty little brain, he was still figuring the world out. He might not be able to emotionally articulate the shame that pity brought, but anger he could _very_ easily grasp. Anger he knew how to deal with.

The Warden had apparently missed a spectacular monologue during his internal musings- the little pieces of paper dangling from the ceiling were spinning in the draft caused by Blue’s restless pacing around the cell.

“--they're all idiots! They're stupid and I hate them, and if they're all too dumb to see just how good Minion's cookies are, then I'm going to eat them all myself!”

Stepping back slightly as his pitch and volume increased with his fervent tirade, the Warden shot a worried glance at Minion.

With any other child he'd put it down to empty, angry words to vent his frustration... but James knew the look that had sparked in his ward's eye.

* * *

Two days later, the little blue alien lay on top of an empty tupperware container licked clean down to the crumbs, miserably clutching his stomach.

“Sir, the Warden and I _tried_ to warn you...”

“S'worth it,” he groaned, curling up into a ball with a weak lopsided grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops got a little carried away researching prison administration and gangs... I think I’m on a watch list now lol.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if there's an actual agreed upon fanon name for the Warden- I don't think I'm accidentally using the same name as someone else? (I did tear through an entire decade of fic in two months, so everything kind of blurred together after a while.) If I am, please let me know and I'll credit accordingly!
> 
> Also, I know Megamind's “real name” is widely debated- but Blue is probably my favourite. I mean, it's a prison. They're not going to think too hard about a name for the lil guy XD


End file.
